


The Cat That Gets The Cream

by Naemi



Category: The Faculty (1998)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Disturbing, M/M, Mind Fuck, Thriller, halloween fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-01
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2017-12-31 04:51:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1027427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naemi/pseuds/Naemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you go home with a stranger . . . be prepared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cat That Gets The Cream

**Author's Note:**

> Important warning in the end notes. However, it spoils the story.
> 
>  **Setting:** Alternate Reality

 

He dresses sharply, sophisticated, the style that best suits his purpose. A smile creeps along the corners of his lips as he shaves. The way the razor reflects the neon light makes him itch with anticipation. It's been a while, and part of him is afraid he can't pull it off anymore, but he's going to risk it anyway. Nothing delights him as much, nothing feels as liberating. He longs for his drug.

Laughter rasps over his lips; his hand trembles slightly. The razor slips and cuts just above the throat. He wipes the blood away, smearing it between his fingertips before licking it off slowly.

_It's going to be fun._

~ ~ ~

The club is full to bursting. It seems half of New York is partying here tonight, and that's probably true. It is the new “it” address for aspiring artists, after all.

Zeke Tyler blends into the crowd, but he isn't artsy. He's a down-to-earth, hard-working guy who's lucky (or, in his own vocabulary, cursed) to be close friends with a semi-successful dancer. He finds himself dragged to events like this more often than he appreciates. What he does like, though, is the attention he gets. Something about him attracts the young and sexy. He doesn't bother to find out why, yet he enjoys every second.

However much he loves playing the game, Zeke rarely takes someone home. If he does, it's always someone special, someone outstanding, even if he will never see her again. Or him. He isn't picky when it comes to gender. What he cares for can't be seen or grasped easily. Instead, he's searching for that one person with a certain spark, something unique that can be anything from a smile to a voice, from a childhood dream to a college degree. Zeke doesn't have a real pattern or preference. Sometimes, he's surprised by his own choice.

Tonight is no different. The moment he sees the man, he knows he wants him. He's small, slender, with somewhat delicate features and incredibly blue eyes that follow Zeke and his entourage of Shelly and Shauna (or Kelly and Kara) to the bar. Zeke manages to buy him a drink, too, without the girls noticing. He keeps flirting and laughing, and never loses sight of the man. He talks to Kara (or Cora) and watches the man dance with smooth movements, fascinating, almost hypnotizing. Zeke's stomach clenches with want.

When he excuses himself to go for a smoke, he passes the stranger, smiling, raising an eyebrow in a silent question. Then, he's outside, cigarette between his lips. He doesn't even get to flick his lighter before a soft voice says, “You think you're a hell of a flirt, don't you?”

Zeke shrugs. “Tell me I'm not.”

The man snatches the cigarette from him with a smirk. “What's your game?”

“Anything,” Zeke replies. “I can play by any rules.”

“Intriguing.”

Zeke lights the man's cigarette before he shakes another one out of his soft pack. They smoke in comfortable silence, openly appraising one another. When they're finished, Zeke asks, “My place?”

The stranger laughs. “Who said I'm coming?”

“I dare say that much is guaranteed.”

~ ~ ~

The apartment is only a ten minute cab ride away. They don't talk until the door falls shut behind them, and even then, there isn't much to say. Zeke asks the man's name—Casey—and with the next breath, they're over each other, all hands and lips that have but one goal.

Casey makes soft little purrs that drive Zeke crazy. Everything about him is so beautiful; he's perfect. When Zeke palms his cloth-covered length, Casey gasps into their kiss, cants his hips into the touch in an almost obscene demand. He seems big; Zeke swallows. He wants to feel him, have his cock so deep inside him it hurts.

Casey pushes him back, looks up at him with mischievousness in his eyes. He unzips, slides the fabric down slowly until his cock springs free, beautifully hard, as perfect as the rest of him.

“You like it?”

“Yeah.”

“Then suck it.”

Zeke bites his lower lip to prevent a growl from escaping. He sinks to his knees. The tiled floor is unpleasantly cold, even through his jeans, but the reward is worth a little inconvenience. He wraps one hand around Casey's balls, pressing his thumb against the underside of his cock, before his tongue flicks out to lick down the entire length. Casey moans softly, his hips jerk forward just a little, and Zeke can't possibly stop his mouth from opening wide.

He sets a slow pace, partly teasing, but when two hands come resting against the back of his head, it's a clear order. Zeke doesn't hesitate to hum his approval. Something about this man makes him want to surrender, to please him, and although the feeling has an overwhelming edge to it, it's exciting.

Casey fucks Zeke's mouth with smooth little thrusts, movements as mesmerizing as those from the dance floor. He never gets especially rough or pushes in too deep, but when he withdraws to come on Zeke's face, it's still somewhat of a relief. Zeke wipes the cum off with the hem of his shirt. There's nothing about Casey that justifies it, yet for that one moment before he let go, when the grip in his hair became relentless and Zeke almost tasted the orgasm on his tongue, he felt threatened. He frowns at the thought, then he smirks when he visualizes the very special surprise he's got in store.

Casey nudges him to stand up. Running his thumb down Zeke's jawline, he suggests, “Let's move this on to the bedroom. I've got more to give.”

Zeke can't help a snicker, although his cock throbs with approval. “What could that be?”

“Well. I'll be good to go again before I've even opened you up properly. How's that sound?”

His wit fails him, so Zeke limits his answer to a noncommittal growl, reluctant to reveal how much this actually turns him on.

True to his word, Casey is hard again in no time. His cock pokes Zeke in the side almost as if to mock him, but he doesn't care much. Not with two delightfully nimble fingers scissoring deep inside him, and one of them rubbing over his prostate in irregular circles. He's vaguely aware that he must resemble a squirming mess by now, but to hell, that guy knows exactly what he's doing, and there's nothing wrong with letting go just a little.

Zeke has his head thrown back. His breath comes shallow and quick, stopping momentarily when Casey asks what he really wants.

“Fuck me,” he says, although it would be nice to get off like this. It's been a long time since someone made him this comfortable.

The fingers scissor wide once more, and then they're gone. Zeke can hear Casey rip open the condom wrapper, and he props himself up on his elbows to watch the man prepare himself. It's unceremonious, but that's okay. The actual ceremony is about to happen soon. Well, depending on Casey's stamina.

Zeke chuckles. He spreads out on the bed diagonally so that his head almost hangs off the edge. He loves it that way. It gives him the impression of falling, or flying, sometimes. It's a convenient position.

Casey fucks him hard, just like Zeke hoped. They keep eye contact most of the time. Casey moans a lot, but doesn't utter a single word. Zeke is more vocal, spits out random obscenities just because he loves feeling like a total bitch. Oddly enough, that's not normally the case. But here and now, he finds himself open on a whole new level.

They're loud enough that the neighbors would probably knock protest could they hear them through the noise of their own Halloween party. Casey adapts his thrusts to the rhythm of the booming bass drum, and Zeke adjusts easily. It's frantic and a little bizarre. One of his arms slides off the bed, his fingertips wandering along the carpet. His other hand stretches for Casey's head, gliding up the side of his neck and into his short, dark hair, pulling him into a kiss first, then pushing him back until he's almost sitting upright.

“You close?” Zeke moans.

“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah.” Zeke's fingers find the hidden object, ghost over the rough texture of the handle, close around it. It lies heavy in his hand, exuding power, promising salvation. “So close,” he whispers. Everything's been so perfect, but the timing, the timing is most crucial. “Tell me when.”

Only moments later, Casey's eyes light up. “Now.”

The knife sparkles.

~ ~ ~

The crowd, a creature in itself, almost refuses to let the detectives pass, and closes back in right after them. Some people look appropriately shocked, but most of them are just curious. Hardly anyone talks. Some unpleasant detail must have leaked, or else there wouldn't be such a solemn silence.

“You must be homicide?” one of the officers keeping the spectators off the crime scene asks. When the newcomers nod and flash their badges, he lifts the tape for them to duck past it.

“What do we have?”

“It's ugly. Really ugly,” the officer says as he leads the way inside the building. “Some poor guy ripped to shreds. Literally. He's all over the bedroom. Have you had breakfast yet?”

“Sort of.”

“You'll regret that.”

Detective Casey Connor smirks. “I don't think so.”

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning:** main character death
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful Moit, who also made sure that all characters were returned unharmed.
> 
> _Feedback is love._


End file.
